| Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918. |
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| 170. Brogan’s Lane |
| | | By Louis Esson |
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| THERE’S a crack in the city—down that sharp street | |
| In couples, and armed, tramp rozzers on beat. | |
| Like a joss, silhouetted across the pane, | |
| A Chinese face watches down Brogan’s Lane, | |
| Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane, | 5 |
| A reeling moon blinks over Brogan’s Lane. | |
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| Flash Fred, when he dives on a red lot, sneaks thro’ | |
| To moscow the swag with a Polaky Jew. | |
| Tho’ rooked by old Shylock, he needn’t complain, | |
| The melting pot bubbles in Brogan’s Lane, | 10 |
| Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane, | |
| Rats pinch from their cobbers down Brogan’s Lane. | |
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| And Jenny, fresh down from the country, goes gay | |
| And drives to the races and laughs at the play; | |
| Till one morn, lying out in the cold and the rain, | 15 |
| A body is perished in Brogan’s Lane, | |
| Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane, | |
| There’s only one turn to the long last lane. | |
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| With opium dens, sly cribs, bones and rags, | |
| ’Tis the haunt of thieves, wastrels, poor women and vags. | 20 |
| They booze to bring joy, they sin to numb pain, | |
| But there’ll come a stretch at the end of the lane, | |
| Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane, | |
| The river and morgue shadow Brogan’s Lane. | |
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